221B
by calgarry
Summary: A series of short stories written in the 221B format – each is 221 words long, then the last word begins with B. Rated K plus to be safe.
1. Bother!

Lestrade strides into the office at the Yard, leaving the door open behind him. Anderson and Donovan look up, and Anderson goes to shut the door, before he was stopped. "Come on, Ben!" he calls impatiently. "Hurry up!"

The other agents stare in surprise as a little boy shuffles into the room, his eyes glued firmly on a small handheld game. Lestrade takes him proudly by the shoulders. "This is my son, Ben." Sally and Anderson look at each other, then back at the Lestrades in wonder.

Ben stays at the office the whole day. When Donovan plucks up the courage to ask Greg why Ben is here with them, he simply replies, "Couldn't get a nanny." She tentatively asks about the boy's mother, to which Greg snorts and turns away. She and Anderson shrug at each other behind his back.

Over the course of the day, it is evident that Greg is fond of his boy. He sends him out of the room when a gruesome murder case is being discussed, and he always makes sure the kid has enough water and is warm enough.

At the end of the day, they leave the office and Anderson turns out the light. He turns and bumps into a cabinet. "Oh…" he starts to say, when Donovan coughs and nods at Ben. "…bother."


	2. Boys

Mrs Hudson sat at her favourite armchair by the fire, her hands moving busily in time to the soft music coming from her stereo. She heard the door open and quickly hid the knitting behind her cushion, picking up a book from the table beside her and pretending to read it.

There was a polite knock at her door, then John stuck his head in. "Everything all right, Mrs Hudson?" he asked cheerily.

"Yes, yes, dear, of course. I was just…reading," she told him, brandishing the book in front of her.

He raised an eyebrow slightly. "The dictionary?"

She looked at the cover of the book, surprised. "Um…yes! There was…a word I wanted to look up…" she smiled hopefully at him, praying he wouldn't inquire further.

Instead he chuckled. "All right, Mrs Hudson. Got to go now, see you later." With that he was off up the stairs to his flat.

About half an hour later, the door opened again, and she heard Sherlock come in and take off his coat. He, too, popped his head in the door. "Evening, Mrs Hudson,"

"Good evening Sherlock, how are you?"

"Scarf for John, is it?" She looked shocked, and he grinned at her. "I won't tell." Then he left.

She took up her knitting again, shaking her head. Those two! They were her boys.


	3. Bang!

John walked out of the front door and went down the street. He was a few blocks away when he passed a dark alley. He heard hurried footsteps, and he turned slightly before a force crashed into him, knocking him to the ground. He struggled, but his eyes were covered and a cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose. He held his breath and wildly aimed a punch, but still he felt himself slowly drifting out of consciousness…

John woke up in a small room, a cubicle. There was a strong smell of chlorine, and he could faintly hear water gently splashing. He looked upwards to see three men standing over him, two thugs and…another man. He looked familiar. Was he Molly's boyfriend? The gay one? No, surely not.

The strange man grinned as John sat up, rubbing his head. "So glad you could make it, Johnny," he drawled. "Welcome to the party."

A few minutes later, John was standing up, wearing various explosives with a ridiculously large overcoat over the top. An earpiece was being attached. Jim, as the man was called, was speaking to him.

"Now, you know the drill. You trot out there, say what I say, or else."

"Or else what?" he demanded through clenched teeth, already knowing the answer.

Jim smiled and flourished his fingers. "Bang!"


	4. Blank

Sherlock led the way up a rickety staircase, his loyal blogger following. The building they were going up creaked in the wind, but the two men kept running, knowing if they stopped the consequences could be fatal.

John reached the top of the building and ran smack into Sherlock. He watched as Sherlock stepped backwards, took a deep breath, and ran across the roof. When he reached the end John cried out, but the detective launched himself off the edge of the building and disappeared.

"Not again!"

John raced to the edge to see Sherlock on the roof of another building, lower down than the one he was on. Without hesitating, he followed, and they kept running together.

A few minutes later, when they were on street level, they ducked into a dark alleyway. John was leading for once as they ran along, until he crashed into a wire fence at the end. They started to climb, but were stopped by more footsteps in the alley. They turned around, hands up. A group of thugs approached them, holding guns.

One aimed his pistol at Sherlock, and cocked it. John stepped in front of his friend.

"John," Sherlock started to say, but John ignored him, presenting himself to the assassin.

The crack of a pistol, but no pain.

"John, it's a blank."


	5. Brother

This wasn't where he wanted to be.

In fact, this was the last place in the world Sherlock Holmes wanted to be.

Mycroft's office.

He sat in the chair, feeling uncomfortable. This was a rare occurrence for him, and he found it extremely irritating.

His eyes flicked towards his watch again, then to the clock on the wall, then the one on the desk. All the same time, to the second. And all only half a minute after he had last looked.

Sherlock was more than uncomfortable and irritated. He was bored. This time, however, he couldn't shoot a wall to ease his boredom.

Sherlock's eyes flickered back to the window, at the heavy curtains and the clear glass. He deduced that the window-cleaner had been there only a week previously, and Mycroft had kept the curtains closed during that time.

He looked back at the desk. Mycroft was busy, but the large amounts of papers on his desk were not all pertaining to work. Most of those in the larger piles were blank. He wasn't really in a meeting; he wanted to make Sherlock uneasy and intimidated before meeting him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed them. He heard a door open behind him and he cracked one eye open, not turning around.

He heard a voice behind him. "Hello, brother."


	6. Bugger

Molly Hooper stood in the lab, watching the great consulting detective at work. His coat collar was turned up as he stared intently at the experiment.

Molly's breath hitched as he turned to look at her, finally realising she was staring at him. He quirked an eyebrow. "Yes? What do you want?"

She took a deep breath. It was time, she knew.

"Sherlock, I wanted you to know… I admire you Sherlock. Not just your work but, well, I like you. I mean, really like you. And I know you don't feel the same way, and I'm sorry…I'll go now."

The pathologist turned to go, but stopped as she felt a cool hand on her arm. "Stop."

She turned around slowly to see Sherlock gazing into her eyes. "I know. I've always known."

"Known what?"

"How you feel about me. And you're wrong. I do feel the same way. You've always mattered to me, Molly Hooper. And I love you."

She could hardly believe it as he gazed at her and before she knew it he was leaning down and she stretched up and he inclined his head towards her and…

Ring, ring!

The sound of the alarm woke Molly, and she sat upright in bed, before collapsing onto the pillow limply.

It wasn't real. Of course not. It never was.

Bugger.


	7. Boredom

"Bored, John!"

John cringed. He had come to hate those words, living with Sherlock Holmes. Anything could happen next, from Sherlock shooting the wall to him blowing up the street. That would be the worst case scenario, hopefully.

John needed to make Sherlock forget his boredom, and quickly.

He was running out of ideas. There were no cases available at the Yard, and he refused to play a board game. Sherlock didn't understand Cluedo, hated Monopoly, and cheated at battleships in a way only Sherlock could – by reading John.

John began to despair. There must be something that would keep Sherlock occupied!

His gaze fell upon a pack of cards on the bookshelf.

"Sherlock," he called casually over to the detective, "have you ever made a card house?"

o0o0o

Twenty minutes later, Mrs Hudson came upstairs and poked her head into 221B. Things had gone suspiciously quiet upstairs, and she was worried. She heard Sherlock saying he was bored earlier, and wanted to see how John had coped.

She was surprised yet pleased to see John and Sherlock kneeling by the coffee table, deep in concentration. They had made a large tower of cards that was almost higher than they could reach. And there were no marks on her walls! Who would have thought there was a way to alleviate Sherlock's boredom?


	8. Birthday

John wandered into the living room to find Sherlock staring at him violin angrily. "What's up?" he asked, and received a glare in response.

"Today is not a good day."

"What is it? Don't tell me. It's the anniversary of the first case you lost. No? Is there some obscure festival overseas that you've been banned from?"

"It's worse. It is the anniversary of my insufferable brother's birth."

"As opposed to your other brother?" John joked, then raised his hands in surrender when he found himself on the receiving end of another icy glare. "Sorry."

Sherlock turned back to his violin and picked it up, raising it to his shoulder lividly. He raised the bow to play, and John covered his ears. He removed them, though, when he heard Sherlock playing 'Happy Birthday to You' perfectly.

When the song was finished, John cocked an eyebrow at Sherlock. "What was that about?"

"That was for the benefit of Mycroft's hidden cameras. _This_ is how I really feel."

John stuck his fingers in his ears and rushed out the door, but he could still hear the screeching. He ran downstairs and out the front door, only to find that he could still hear Sherlock's awful playing.

"Don't worry," he said to a pair of confused pedestrians outside the flat, "it's just his brother's birthday."


End file.
